


Inspirations

by Gray Cardinal (Gray_Cardinal)



Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Cooper
Genre: Gen, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 06:07:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/pseuds/Gray%20Cardinal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long after the end of the series, Will Stanton meets a stranger in an airport book-stall.  (Written for Yuletide 2006.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inspirations

**Disclaimer:** _Will Stanton and the world of _The Dark Is Rising_ properly belong to Susan Cooper, and this brief might-have-been is meant only as homage and speculation. As for the other individual appearing herein - as far as I know, the meeting I've postulated has happened only in my imagination. But it's fun to contemplate...._

# # #

He had long since learned not to sigh aloud when he passed a Harry Potter display, but something - perhaps the twitch of a shrug in his shoulders, or the not-quite-suppressed momentary glance heavenward - prompted a woman to look up from the shelves near the end of the airport book-stall's aisle, and shake her head at him sympathetically.

"Not a fan, I take it?" she inquired, in a voice that blended the mellow cadence of the Irish countryside with a decidedly American accent. There was both friendliness and a touch of challenge in the question, and the two sets of contrasts awakened his natural curiosity.

"They're so - cluttered," he said, waving a hand at the display. "The magic goes off in all directions at once; there's no real consistency to it. And the plots are almost as messy. They're complicated for the sake of being complicated. And yet people keep buying them, and lining up for the films, and buying those when the discs come out. I've heard the author's richer than the Queen by now. It just doesn't seem . . . fair."

"What, that she's popular?" The woman looked bemused, absent-mindedly reaching up to brush back her short dark hair and straighten her glasses.

"No - well, not exactly," he said, a touch defensively. "More that the messiness is popular. And catching. The kids who read her are liable to start thinking the world is really like that."

Now the woman's chuckle was only half amused. "What, messy? But it is - more so some places than others, mind you. Just look at the headlines." And she gestured in turn, toward the periodicals display halfway across the shop, where newspaper headlines loudly proclaimed dire circumstances in the Middle East, on Downing Street, and at points beyond.

He held back a sputter. "I meant scientifically," he said. "All the Latin aside, there's no rhyme nor reason in her magic. And her world doesn't make sense - sometimes she writes as if it's a separate parallel dimension, others she treats it like a part of the regular world. One can't have it both ways."

She cocked her head first at him, then at the rows of books lining the endcap. "Hm, I have to give you that one." She paused for a moment, then asked, "So, then - would you like the magic better if it did make sense scientifically?"

"Certainly," he said. "Magic - if it existed - would have to have form and structure and some underlying framework. Else the Dark - er, those who'd use it for ill - would long since have cheated their way into power and there'd be no prospect for `happily ever after'."

The woman gave him a brief, studied look, then reached sideways and plucked a slim volume from not quite halfway along the nearest shelf. "Here, then, have you looked at these?"

He took the book, noted its title, and nodded. "Much better - maybe even too scientific. The jargon gets a little thick at times, but the . . . sense of purpose is really well-rendered. She's up to what, seven volumes now?" he added, handing back the paperback.

"Eight, actually. And a half, if you count the one in progress." She slid it back into place and withdrew a nearby hardcover. "And you have a point about the jargon in the early books. I've been trying to pare it down since."

His eyebrows rose sharply even as his face was reddening. "You're...?"

She broke into a sudden grin. "Guilty. And not to worry, I set myself up for that." Still smiling, she rummaged briefly in her purse and produced an Irish driver's license. "Here, I'd better show you - after that business with the impersonator awhile back, I wouldn't blame you for being skeptical." And indeed, the name on the license matched the books' byline.

"Well, then," he said, lightly tapping the newer book, "I'll have to have this; you'll sign it, I hope?"

"Of course. To--?"

"Will," he replied.

She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "Will it is. And thank you." She wrote swiftly on the novel's title page, handed him the book, then glanced at the watch on her wrist and drew in a breath. "Uh-oh, if I don't hurry I'll miss my connection to New York."

"Thank you," Will replied sincerely. "I expect you'll make it." He cocked his head slightly sideways as she hurried out of the book-stall, as if listening to something, and flicked the fingers of one hand ever so slightly toward her back. He smiled to himself, and softly murmured one of the writer's signature phrases to himself as he felt the tiny luck-charm take hold: "In Life's name, and for Life's sake...."

Only then did he glance down at the book he held, and the salutation its author had inscribed in it:

_"For Will, at Heathrow - All shall find the Light at last...."_

**Author's Note:**

> _As the length should indicate, this was originally written as a stocking stuffer rather than a formal Yuletide assignment, and it ended up going in a distinctly different direction than the one I'd originally planned. OTOH, it's still one of my personal favorites among my own works, not least because of one Yuletider's comment that "this fic made my inner-eleven-year-old do a happy dance of children's fantasy."_


End file.
